


tv taught me how to feel

by scrapbullet



Category: Inception (2010), RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:56:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It begins with a cuppa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tv taught me how to feel

**Author's Note:**

> I blame unsettledink for this one, who said; I've just this vision of Eames, all dropping a random kiss on Johnny as he walks by, casual arm around his shoulders, all casual, easy touches like he isn't aware of what he's doing, but of course he is. And Johnny's so affection starved (though he'd never admit it) that he just eats is up. And because I heart the idea of Johnny, Eames and Yusuf flatsharing. This is... utterly unBETA-ed craptastic crack. Emphasis on the craptastic.

Eames is a tease. There's nothing more to it. Eames is a goddamn tease and it's driving Johnny up the bloody wall.

It begins with a cuppa.

Just a cuppa. It's early, and bright September sunshine streams in through the open window causing all those within to blink owlishly, unaccustomed to the light. Yusuf is leaning casually against the breakfast bar in naught but his boxer-shorts, absently-mindedly stroking the ears of a cat, a purr emanating from within its chest like the soothing rumble of a motor-engine. He blinks sleepily at Johnny, lips twitching into a semblance of a smile as he murmurs a greeting before plonking his shapely behind on a stool, eyes shuttered closed and breathing deeply.

If there's one thing that Johnny's learned it's that Yusuf isn't a morning person.

Naw, that's Eames all over.

The aforementioned bastard, _Eames_ , is making tea, and humming a jaunty tune under his breath. He is the epitome of sunshine and laughter, is Eames; not a shadow under his eyes despite the fact that the three of them had spent the night in front of the X-Box indulging in whatever game Yusuf has hidden away in his tip of an apartment, his slate grey eyes bright and warm as he pours hot, steaming water into a cup laden with a tea bag and places it in front of Johnny with a flourish.

Yes, a flourish. As if he'd have the _energy_ this morning...

"Rise and shine," Eames murmurs, and he leans in to press his surprisingly soft lips to Johnny's cheek, stubble a rough burn against his face.

Johnny, against his will mind you, flushes red.

Yeah, like he said; tease.

The second time it happens, Johnny is too busy watching Yusuf try to bathe his cat to notice they're not alone.

In his defence, the poor kit is right entertaining. It yowls pitifully, clawing at Yusuf's arms, splashing soapy water up the bathroom wall and thoroughly soaking everything in a two metre radius. Yusuf, clad in jeans and a shirt, is thus sopping wet.

Now, is it really Johnny's fault that he can't stop laughing? No? Yes?

Well, who gives a fuck what you think anyway.

Eames' laughter is warm and heady at his back, his wide palms settling on Johnny's hips. It's a comforting weight, as calloused fingers deftly slip through his belt loops as he gently manoeuvres him out of the way, passing him by as if he's nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

"That kit is going to be the death of you one of these days," he says, and he kneels beside a scowling Yusuf who thrusts said kit into his arms with vicious glee. The kit blinks, whiskers peppered with soap suds and, much to Johnny's amusement, purrs smugly and flicks her tail, showering Eames in cold droplets.

"Well _you_ deal with her, then," Yusuf grumbles, and dusts his hands off as if he's wiping them free of this little problem.

He brushes past Johnny with his own brand of heat and comfort, but Johnny is too shocked to notice.

He's still tingling from Eames' touch.

Do you see it now?

The third time it happens, they're curled up on the couch. It's dark, and the muted light from the television throws shadows across their faces. Yusuf is asleep, head resting on his shoulder and Johnny plays piggy-in-the-middle, with Eames slouched to his right.

Now, that's all well and good... but Eames, well, when Eames is tired, he is languid and soft and very, very pliable. His hand rests on Johnny's thigh as if it's meant to be there, as if it _belongs_ there, and though Eames is all too happy to watch the late run of EastEnders with a cock-sure smile on his face, Johnny just can't fucking concentrate.

And when that hand _moves_ , trails up and inwards to brush knuckles against his burgeoning erection then, well, that's the final straw.

He snaps.

And _oh_ , isn't Eames surprised?

No. No, he isn't. Which just makes Johnny hate him all the more.

Johnny leans in, leans in close, and tips that pretty face towards him. Johnny leans in and traces the seam of those lush lips, makes them wet and pliant as Eames opens up for him, lets him take control for once in his life. Their tongues tangle and their breath is heavy in the air between them, encapsulated by a room and a couch and a partnership that may or may not work.

They kiss, and it's slow and wet and messy. Stubble scrapes rough and arousing across Johnny's chin and long, nimble fingers tighten in Eames' shirt, just holding him, holding him close.

They part, but Eames' hand on his thigh doesn't stray. It lingers, a warm heaviness that promises many things and those grey eyes glimmer with mischief.

"You tease," Johnny says, _sotto voce_ , and he scowls.

"Darling," Eames replies, and his lips quirk up into a self-satisfied smile, "I've been courting you for days, did it really take you this long to realise?"

Beside them Yusuf's chest hitches before he subsides, snoring softly.


End file.
